


it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams

by oceanvirus



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Episode: s02e23 Johnny and Dora, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Slight Canon Divergence, i still don't know how to tag things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11644434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanvirus/pseuds/oceanvirus
Summary: In which Jake Peralta showing up at Amy Santiago's door in the middle of the night in need of a place to stay is simultaneously the best and worst thing that's ever to happened to them.





	it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams

**Author's Note:**

> hello all!! and (jake voice) welcome to the big show!! the temporary roommates au!! one of my personal favourite tropes!
> 
> anyhoops thank u so very very much to @scullysthumbtacks and @hotelsweet on tumblr for letting me bounce ideas off them/giving me advice/just being really heckin cool people
> 
> (also an extra thank u to darcey for giving me a summary lmao)
> 
> title is from dreams by fleetwood mac, enjoy!

Jake Peralta is in Amy Santiago’s apartment. 

It's not like this is a rare occurrence; the pair have shared many a takeout dinner together, have spent countless nights poring over case files at Amy’s kitchen table. It isn't so much the fact that Jake Peralta is in Amy Santiago’s apartment that’s unusual, but rather, the reason  _ why. _

Real estate in Brooklyn is not always optimal. Sometimes, one will find an apartment in a prime location, but the rent is far too steep. Sometimes a suite will have great neighbours but terrible landlords. Maybe the rent will be affordable but the place is absolute crap, and it just so happens that Jake’s apartment falls in the last category.

Amy is no stranger to stories of his ceiling leaking from the upstairs neighbours, or a rat somehow finding its way up to his fourth floor unit, despite how he often embellishes these stories beyond recognition. Subsequently, it isn't really a surprise to hear that a pipe burst in the unit above his, flooding his living room and rendering the apartment uninhabitable until the problem is resolved. What Amy wasn't expecting was  _ how _ she came about this knowledge. 

Precisely four minutes after midnight, a knock sounds at Amy’s front door. Half-asleep, she groans, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow in an attempt to ignore the noise. A few seconds pass before the knock sounds again – this time, even more persistent – so with a sigh, she hauls herself up, pulling a tattered hoodie over her frame.  She unlocks the door, fully prepared to tell her neighbour that she is done lending him rolls of toilet paper at any and all hours of the night, but freezes when the door swings open to reveal her partner – soaked from head to toe and holding a small backpack.

“Uh...hi?” She hesitates, her brows furrowing.

Jake smiles sheepishly, rocking back on his heels nervously. “Hey.”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Amy steps aside and motions for Jake to come in. “Why are you all wet?” She mumbles.

“Long story short, my apartment flooded. Gina’s out of town on that weird spiritual cruise thing, Charles cooked goat stew this weekend and his whole house stinks, and Rosa...well, is Rosa.” He sighs, heading for her bathroom with his bag over his shoulder. “Do you have, like, a shitty towel that you won't mind if I ruin?”

“Hall closet, top shelf on the right.” She calls down the hall. She shifts nervously, pulling the hoodie down over her thighs; the patterned pyjama shorts she’s wearing suddenly feel a bit too short. “Uh, how did you get into the building?” 

“Spare key, remember? I just didn't wanna waltz in here without some kind of warning, in favour of not being throat-punched.” He calls from the bathroom, prompting a grin from Amy. 

“Yeah, we have a bad track record for that. Remember the Flaherty case?” 

His laugh echoes down the hall. “Three-day stakeout from a vacant motel. I walked into the bathroom while you were brushing your teeth and you nearly stabbed me with the toothbrush.” He leans around the doorframe at this, holding a toothbrush out to prove his point. 

“Hey, it's not my fault you thought it was a good idea to break the door down in order to take a shower.” She grins at him before he disappears into the bathroom again. 

“I did not  _ break down _ the door, I slightly rattled the handle and it just so happened that the door couldn't handle my strength.” He claims loudly.

She rolls her eyes, roaming into the kitchen and pulling down two mugs. “Hey, you want some tea or something?”

“Tea? What are you, 89 years old?” Amy can practically see the taunt on his face, despite him being in a different room. She heaves a sigh, choosing to ignore his comment as she sets about making the tea. 

As she moves through the familiar motions of brewing two cups, she smiles to herself. As annoyed as she is for having to share her space with a whole other person (not to mention the most disorganized and messy person she knows), she’s a bit grateful – lately, her apartment has felt too big for just her, and her evenings spent alone are driving her somewhat crazy. Jake has always been the type of person to fill up a room with his personality; Amy is holding onto hope that whatever’s left of their past feelings for each other won’t hinder that ability.

A few moments pass before Jake emerges from the bathroom, now wearing dry sweatpants and an NYPD t-shirt, his hair dripping everywhere. Any premeditated thoughts of potential awkwardness leave Amy’s mind at the sight of the water droplets on her floor, and she tuts softly as she stands, setting her mug down and snagging the towel off his shoulder. 

“You're dripping all over my new carpet, moron.” She mutters as she reaches up to rustle the towel through his hair, but she freezes when she catches him staring. 

“What? I just got this put in, it was expensive and I'm not letting you give it water damage.” She glares as she continues, his eyes following her warily. 

“Amy.” 

She stops again, settling back on her heels to meet his gaze. 

“I can dry my own hair.” He grins smugly at her, and she feels heat rising in her cheeks. 

Amy sputters for a moment. “Clearly not, since as aforementioned, you're  _ dripping all over my new carpet.” _ She states as she manages to regain her composure and hands the towel back to him, scowling. 

Jake chuckles softly, brushing past her to flop onto the couch. Fighting a smile, Amy takes the two cups of tea over to where he sits, perching on the edge of her seat and handing the steaming mug to him. 

Jake frowns as he takes the cup and sniffs it suspiciously, drawing a laugh from Amy. “You are such a child. It's not gonna kill you, just try it.”

He shoots a skeptical look in her direction before bringing the cup to his lips, sipping slowly, and Amy’s face breaks into a grin as she watches his expression shift from uncertainty to delight. “What  _ is _ this?” He asks incredulously. 

Amy laughs, smug satisfaction in her eyes. “Meyer lemon. I knew you’d like that one.” 

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, taking another sip and leaning back. Amy follows suite, pulling her feet up onto the couch and sinking into her seat. A comfortable silence hangs in the air for a few minutes before Amy decides to break it. “So how long will you have to stay?” She questions, toying with the string from her tea bag.

“Dunno. At least four days, maybe more. My landlord isn’t the title champion of getting things fixed on time.” He grins momentarily, and his expression falls flat. “Sorry. If you don’t want me to-”

“No, no. you can stay. It’s just, uh...we should set out some ground rules if you’re gonna be here for a while.”

He stares, confusion in his expression. “What kind of rules?”

Amy sighs. “Just general roommate-y rules. No using my toothbrush, I won’t drink the orange soda you managed to rescue from your flooding apartment, seriously?” She sighs, the exasperation undercut by a smirk. As she spoke, Jake had began unpacking and rearranging the contents of his bag - seventy percent of which was cans of orange soda.

“What can I say? I have my priorities straight.” He grins widely as he continues to unpack. “Anyways, this is starting to sound too much like the no-no list Charles and I made. We should just wing it, you can yell at me if I do something annoying. But...there is one rule that I propose to be not-negotiable.”

“The term is  _ non-negotiable _ , but nice try. Go on.” She grins smugly when he rolls his eyes at the correction.

“Charles is never, never,  _ ever _ to find out about this arrangement.” 

“Smart. We’d never hear the end of it.” She agrees.

“We probably should avoid telling Gina too. I mean, that’s not as crucial as the Charles thing, and she might murder me if she finds out that I kept a secret from her, but still.” Amy laughs as he shudders at what must be the thought of Gina exacting her revenge.

“Works for me.” She smiles, and extends her hand. Jake takes it with a smile of his own, shaking her hand firmly. 

“So, uh...you have to work tomorrow, right?” Jake asks tentatively, after a moment of silence.

Amy glances at the clock and grimaces at the flashing red numbers.  _ 1:49 AM _ . “Yeah, I should go back to sleep. You have the day off?”

He nods. “Don’t worry, I won’t destroy your apartment while you’re gone.” A sly grin splits his face, and he stands. “I'll sleep out here.”

“Yeah, I’m not arguing with that. He who wakes me up in the middle of the night has to sleep on the couch.” Amy responds before gathering her things and shuffling back to the bedroom. She pauses at the doorway, turning around to see him pulling the spare pillow and blanket from under the couch, and smiles at the sight. “Night, Jake.”

He looks up, the warm glow of the lamp illuminating his soft smile. “Goodnight.”

She closes the door behind her and curses inwardly, because Amy Santiago does not swoon. And Amy Santiago certainly does not swoon at Jake Peralta. She flops down onto her mattress face first, groaning softly.

_ It’s gonna be a long week. _

***

The first thing Amy registers when she wakes up is the sound of someone banging around her kitchen. She groans loudly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she rolls over to shut off her alarm.

The second thing she registers is the smell of coffee and pancakes, warm and inviting. She rises slowly, limbs heavy with sleep, and follows her nose out into the apartment, but stops short at the sight in front of her. The kitchen is in disarray with various baking supplies, and the mess matches with the person meandering around the counter perfectly, humming a cheerfully calm tune. It appears as though Jake has been up for a while; he’s still wearing sweatpants and the same NYPD t-shirt from the night before, but they’re now covered in pancake mix. His headphones are in his ears as he flips pancakes at the stove, shimmying to a song Amy can’t make out from where she stands.

Shaking herself from her reverie, she pads quietly to the table, sliding into the spot where a large stack of pancakes and a cup of coffee await her arrival. Jake whirls around, taking an earbud out and beaming at her. “Good morning to you.”

Amy grumbles, taking the coffee mug between her hands. “You are far too happy for this early in the morning. Why are you even awake?” She mutters.

Jake scoffs in mock offense. “You question my gratitude, madame? I got up early to make breakfast, as thanks. It would do you well to be a little kinder.” He grins, mischief in his eye.

She rolls her eyes and picks up her fork. “You don’t have to make me breakfast, we aren’t married.” She lifts the fork to her mouth and takes a bite, and her eyes widen as the food hits her tongue. “Nevermind, this is delicious. Forget all the things I just said.”

Jake grins widely, pointing his spatula at her. “Amy Santiago, I promise you this – as repayment for letting me live here for the week, I will make you pancakes and coffee every morning.”

Amy smiles, voice muffled through a mouthful of pancake. “Thank god.”

She scarfs down the rest of her meal, ignoring his jabs about her being a grouch in the morning, and retreats back to her room to start getting ready. As she lays out her clothes for the day, she can’t help but feel ridiculous for her panic the night before. This is just Jake. Jake, who thinks orange soda in cereal is a balanced breakfast, or that pizza counts as a vegetable. Jake, who used to have feelings for her. Jake, who woke up way earlier than he ever has on his day off just to make her breakfast.

Jake, who Amy is most definitely, positively, absolutely  _ not _ in love with.

It takes her a few minutes longer than normal to get ready to go, but soon enough she’s donning her coat and shoes. She turns to say goodbye to Jake, but her words are once again lost on her lips when she looks up. 

The early morning sun is streaming softly through the blinds, lighting up his features as he goes about cleaning up the mess he’d made earlier. There's a glob of batter on his cheek and a flour handprint on his hip and despite the chaos surrounding him, he looks completely relaxed, as if he's lived here for years and this was a regular morning. He seems to know already where everything is, and just how well he fits into her tiny kitchen is maybe a little bit mesmerizing. He stops, apparently taking notice of the figure frozen by the doorway, and grins.

“I know, I know. Me actually cleaning something is a sight for sore eyes.” He chirps, waggling his eyebrows. “Don’t stare for too long, Santiago, we all know how much organization gets you going.”

She stammers for a moment, before rolling her eyes dramatically. “In your dreams, Peralta. See you later. Don’t burn my house down.” 

He smiles, pointing a finger gun at her and winking. “No promises. See you tonight.”

Amy turns on her heel, stepping out and closing the door behind her. The moment the handle clicks, she leans her head against the wood, closing her eyes and groaning. She was right to be worried.

It’s gonna be a long,  _ long _ week.

 


End file.
